


That Mister Aerial-Silk-Artist

by TimeKing



Series: Circus [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aerialist Marco, Jean with reading glasses cuz I can, Jean's POV, Language, M/M, More tags to be added, Rating May Change, Student Jean, circus AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 11:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1426348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimeKing/pseuds/TimeKing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean is a mechanical engineering student in his senior year at St. Maria's University in Trost and about to graduate after spring semester, yet he’s got no idea what kind of project he will pull up his sleeve to impress his professors and gain his Master degree with top score. How is he to impress his father like that? Not that his father ever cared about anything he achieved.</p><p>And, then, to top it all that Mister Aerial-Silk-Artist steps into his life... Marco Bodt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone, I feel sorry for coming up with something like that... honestly. Blame the plotbunnies like I do. I should be working on my other story, still this idea bothered me and I already typed about 4-5 chapters straight away.
> 
> This is Jean's POV. You can find Marco's POV right here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1406329/chapters/2950318  
> (Someone please show me how to place links into the notes... I'm too dumb for that, obviously! ;A;)
> 
> I'll guess I'll make updates each Sunday on this one for now... until I'm out of stock. xD
> 
> I apologize for any errors that may occur. I'm unfortunately no native speaker.
> 
> Please enjoy

People tend to say I'm socially inept.

I say I'm socially challenged. Just because I don't like many people roaming the fucking planet or embrace each and every stranger with open arms, doesn't mean I'm not sociable. I'm not Mother Teresa, goddamnit. And I know I'm picky. But I do have a carefully selected amount of people I tolerate around me and even would go so far as to call my friends, thank you very much.

People tend to say I'm blunt.

I say I'm honest. Seriously, if you can't take the truth, don't ask me, okay? I'm not one to pamper people or tell them what they want to hear. Neither do I want to hear lies from my friends. That's only fair.

So, for example, if I tell Connie and Sasha, they should stop being annoying, little goofballs and rent a room already, then that's exactly what I mean. If I say to Ymir that she's the scariest bad ass chick I ever met and that Mikasa Ackermann is my personal and idolized epitome of an Asian princess, then that's exactly what I mean. Likewise, if I tell Eren Jaeger to fuck off and screw himself and Armin that his IQ equals Einstein's, then – guess what – it's exactly what I mean! No ambiguous subtexts with me, just pure uncensored honesty. Don't know how you think about this, but I count this as a pro on my behalf.

People tend to say I'm arrogant.

I say I'm confident enough to know what I want and how to achieve it. I don't think that it's arrogant of me to know my fortes. It's not that I'm not aware of my flaws, right? So, when I say that I'm a top class student who is most likely mastering with _magna cum laude_ then I certainly don't do this, because I'm boasting. It's a fucking fact. And I work hard on having excellent grades. So, why shouldn't I be proud about my own achievements, huh? I just fail to see anything wrong with that.

People tend to say I'm pessimistic.

I say I'm realistic. I'm not sure if you are aware yet, but sugar-coating words is not my thing. If you fuck up big, words like 'everything's gonna be alright' don't help... at all. They may make you temporarily feel better, yeah, but what does feeling better have to do with problems at hand? If you fuck up, you have to bear the consequences, learn from your mistakes and make it better next time. If you fuck up big, but are still in the position to save the base, then hell yeah, just fucking do it instead of drowning in your own misery. Goddammit. Just my opinion.

People also say I'm always ill-tempered.

And now that's why I'm so sure people talk bullshit. It's just the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. I do agree that I'm temperamental, yes, but not _always_. I know where they come from, though. It's that constant scowl on my face and me being pretty irascible, when things really tick me off. Who wouldn't be? But I swear, even though I look like it, I'm not pissed _all the fucking time_. And even if I shout and snarl and cuss, doesn't mean I'm beyond reasoning. You may just end up with a black eye or two. But, hey, not everyone's perfect.

I could go on and on and on... but I guess you get the point, huh?

You see, there's always two sides of the same coin. The subjective side and the objective side. Not a single other pair of eyes will ever see the world the way I do. Neither will I ever see the world through another one's eyes. There will always be tiny (or not so tiny) differences from person to person.

So, basically, there's one world, but a bazillion ways to look at it.

And this concept makes each and everyone of us kind of like isolated islands in the vast sea of perception. It's sad in a way. To imagine that we, the isolated islands, float in the same sea and maybe are even close enough to each other to almost touch. Almost. But, hey, we can reach another by building links. Sounds great, huh? Unfortunately, those links aren't indestructible. Even a strong connections breaks in the eyes of a raging storm and the isolated islands may drift apart.

Sounds dramatic, huh? Well, anyway...

This theory of mine leads back to the topic why people tend to think I'm socially inept. Because knowing this, how could I even try to form bonds and links? They'll get destroyed eventually and this most likely includes the bitter feeling of disappointment at best or complete havoc at worst. Logically, it's all a matter of self-preservation to not get too much emotionally attached to someone else.

And so the fucking vicious circle of my mindset is complete.

You're impressed now, huh?

Impertinent, arrogant, blunt me isn't actually as shallow as you thought, right?

Don't worry. You aren't the first ones to underestimate my philosophical adeptness and general superiority.

I mean, even my influential Dad doesn't get me. Like at all.

I'm pretty sure my favorite human beings, aka my 'friends' (You remember, I'm not getting too emotionally attached. Ever.), don't get me most of the times as well. They try, though.

Hell, even I don't get myself sometimes.

But, anyway, I think I didn't introduce myself just yet.

Hi, my name's Jean Kirschstein, I'm sweet 22 years young, super-attractive and a mechanical engineering student extraordinaire in his senior year at St. Maria's University.


	2. Chapter 1: Project

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where there is rambling about family issues, too much pressure on poor Jean-y baby, sleep deprivation and the first encounter with Mr. Aerial-Silk-Artist...

Student life is the best time of your life.

Pah.

Screw you, whoever spilled such bullshit.

My days as a mechanical engineering student are tough as hell. Early morning classes, overstuffed schedule, tough ass scientific subjects, time- and nerve-consuming projects, a shitload of homework on top and an unhealthy addiction towards caffeine and all-nighters.

That's life at St. Maria's University for me.

No parties, no free time, no social life. No. Fucking. Sleep.

Well, not exactly none of that all the time. On rare occasions I'll screw all of my ambitions and allow myself a decent amount of fun time and I may or may not sleep through whole weekends sometimes just to catch up on sleep. Don't judge me.

“Earth to Jean! Are you listening?” Snapping fingers appear directly in front of my eyes and bring me back to this plane of existence. Sasha looks at me, pouting with puffed-out cheeks. Oh, she's probably upset about something.

I shake my head and begin pinching the brink of my nose. Constant headaches are what I get for staying up all night and reviewing cue cards, I think bitterly.

“Sorry, Sash. It's been a long night. What did you say?” I ask and take a sip on my now lukewarm coffee, wrinkling my nose in disgust. Without a shitload of sugar and creamer and it being nearly cold, this is the worst black shit I ever tasted. If I didn't need the caffeine in that to make me function like a normal human being, I'd just spit it out already. That said, I already downed a whole can of this crappy coffee after waking up from my two-hours-nap.

“I said we need to get this presentation on 3D-printers done by Monday.” She says nibbling on a tuna sandwich with way too much mayonnaise. “We better start on this soon.”

It's Tutor Tuesday. The only day during week I'm completely free from classes... yep, you got that right, It's in the middle of the fucking week. So no extended weekends for me. Yay, not. And I spent those Tutor Tuesdays with Sasha, since we share most of our classes. We also asked Ymir once to join us, but she merely cackled and said she was above all this shit. Whatever this is supposed to mean... I mean, she doesn't even get average grades.

We sit in my loft, a birthday present from my old man. His nice way of telling me _'Boy, you're old enough to stand on your own feet. So get out of my house and never come back again.'_ He's so endearing.

He never used to be the caring type. Too much business and stuff in his mind to spent his precious time with his only son. I'd say I don't even fucking care anymore, but that would be a lie. I do care. He's my fucking father, goddammit, okay?

Anyway...

My place is a loft in the upper storey of one of the buildings close to the campus. It's not that big, but rather damn cozy. I like it this way. I just don't like getting drowned in too much space, like back at home. I've got it all crammed with bookshelves and mismatched furniture and silly trinkets. The bare stone walls are plastered with posters of my favorite bands and movies. I've even gotten myself one of those silly neon-lit signs which reads “open” and hangs on the wall benath a silverware clock. I love such kind of shit, okay? Because it's awesome.

But the special highlight of this place of mine is that one of the slant-sided walls is completely made of huge ass glass windows and there's also a decent balcony behind it. Having something like that provides me with the most breath taking view on Trost. The only drawback is to keep the windows constantly clean. It's a fucking nightmare, I swear. They're like three meters tall.

At the moment my view ain't much spectacular, though. The dull gray cloudy sky spreads itself behind those windows and it's starting to get dark already, even though it's barely six o'clock. I can see the wind tugging at the remaining leaves on the trees, plucking them from twigs and swiveling them through the air in the light beams of street lamps. A more poetic kind of person may have proclaimed that the leaves were dancing their death dance, for me, though, the wind just reminded me of how fucking cold it became outside in barely no time.

Good thing we're sitting inside, lounging on my cozy deep-pile carpet in front of a free-standing fireplace. Oh, the luxuries of being a spoiled only child and heir of Richart Kirschstein. Sometimes it pays off.

I flick through various notes, as Sasha reminds me of our upcoming presentation. I work in advance, you see. And soon I find the object I'm searching for, a burned disc labeled _'3D-printer presentation'_ . “Look, here, that's all the info summarized I've gathered so far. And there are photos, too... goddamn, fucking many photos. Even a fucking video is on it. Could you just kinda make some nice looking Power Point presentation or some shit around it and send me the outcome till Saturday evening?

Flabbergasted is a funny word. But it's a fucking good word to express the look on Sasha's face just right now as I hand her the disc. She stares at it in her hand then back up at me and continues this weird behavior for a couple minutes before shaking her head in disbelief. “Jean... are you... are you nuts? You already did all the work? Oh jeez... we are in this together, you know!”

Ambitions. My burden. As I said. One day they'll probably kill me.

“Well, yeah. That's why you get to make the rest. That's cool with you, isn't it?” I ask, flashing her a crooked smile and hand her a peanut butter cup as a peace offering.

She takes it, but that doesn't keep her from slugging my arm. “You complete and utter ass. You're working your ass off and I feel guilt-ridden now. When did you even do this?” She attempts to glare but it's hard to be impressed by her, when she shoves a whole fucking peanut butter cup down her throat. If all it's disgusting.

“Ewww... Sash, close your mouth. Looks like a gross multiple crash on your tongue.” What? I said I'm honest. Unfortunately the effect of saying something like this is her choking on laughter, which results into her spitting peanut-buttery goop all over my face. Wonderful. I feel my eye twitching.

She's quick to grab a napkin and clean my face, all the while giggling like the immature little shit she is, while I start swearing like a sailor.

Sasha and I have met first halfway through freshman year, when Connie Springer, my brother-in-arms in CoD and best buddy ever since middle-school, introduced her to me as his girlfriend. Before that I wasn't even aware of Sasha's existence, although we shared and still share quite an amount of classes.

It's probably because I still had my huge crush on Mikasa. No time for checking out any other opportunities. Look, I'm also a man of virtues... loyalty and dedication and such. Pity, that such a stunning girl like her only has got eyes for Eren fucking Jaeger. I hope she'll realize soon enough that he's so not worth her attention.

As for Connie and Sasha. I'm sure that they're gonna marry someday. Those two fit together like matching jigsaw puzzle pieces. Wish them all the best. People like them deserve each other, if only to prevent other innocent souls from having to deal with such goofballs.

Sasha wants to master in environmental chemistry, so we do a lot of partner work together. Her grades improved much ever since the invention of Tutor Tuesday and I doubt she'll fail her finals. At first she brought Connie along. But he was too much of a distraction for both of us to be tolerable during studying sessions. So she decided it's for the best to not bring him along any more. It's fine with me. And Connie isn't the jealous type. He says he trusts his girl, or whatever. And I don't intend to do anything with her anyway. She's pretty and cute, yes, but food-sex is not my kind of kink thing... So, nope.

“What's this? Why did you mark this day?” She asks, pointing at my calendar, hidden behind colorful flowerpots with herbaceous plants over in the kitchen, after she tossed the napkins into the bin. “You've got a date or something?” Her eyes sparkle. Oh God, please no.

Another reason why I'm not so fond of having friends may be that they always are so nosy. They are so obsessed with my love life that I keep wondering if they don't have enough problems of their own.

I look up at her and glare. “Are you stupid? Do I look like I have the time for dates? I just have to babysit my fucking little stepbrother.”

“Ohhhhh... did Hitch dump the poor boy on you once again?” I grumble a 'Fucking yes' and 'It's their fucking anniversary or something' and she nods, giving me a sympathetic smile as she kneels down beside me again. “Don't get all mopey. You usually enjoy spending time with him.”

I adjust my reading glasses – yeah, I forgot to mention it, live with it – on the brink of my nose and look at her. “You know, I'm not pissed that it's him. I'm pissed about them dumping him on me like I don't have enough stress already. I've got a test the other day and there's still that damn project buggering...”

“Wait, wait, wait... project? What project?” She squeaks and her big brown eyes widen. The way her face constantly pales speaks volumes of her rising panic-level and I relish in the moment maybe a little bit too long for a supposed-to-be friend.

“Relax. It's my final project. Dawk kinda told me he expects 'an invention which has never been seen before'.” I quote and grimace. “That's so unspecific. I don't even fucking know what he expects from me.”

Professor Nile Dawk is kinda my favorite prof. He's fucking strict and behaves like he's some sort of commander in a military brigade, but he's organized and benefits students who are willing to give their best. Naturally, I'm one of those students. The thing is, being one of his favorite students doesn't mean he's pleased with whatever you do. He always expects more from you. Hence, I have to work even harder to pass projects and presentations in his Mechanical Workmanship classes. That sucks.

“So, basically, he told you that you have to invent something... anything?” Sasha asks and seems to ponder on the thought. “Whatever you want?”

I shrug. “Yeah. I don't have a clue though. It's... inventing something which hasn't been seen before is a lot to ask from a student, isn't it? Right from scratch...” I trail off.

Actually this bothers me... no, scratch that, it fucking scares me. I've still got more than half a year ahead to submit the outcome of this project, but whenever I keep thinking about what glorious invention I want to make, my mind just draws a blank. I have no fucking idea what I am to do with this. And it will make 40% of my grades.

What if I fail?

What will Dad think?

Will he finally abandon me completely?

Will he disown me?

Sasha's warm hand touches my upper arm and squeezes it slightly. She smiles and I relax again, unaware of how stiff I've gotten over the idea of failing. “You've still got plenty of time, don't you? It's due at the end of spring semester, right?”

“But-”

“No buts, Jean Philippe* Kirschstein!” She chides and I cringe at the mentioning of my second name. Then she smiles again, reassuring and warm, before she sticks her tongue out at me and winks. That brat. “You'll figure it out, eventually. I know you will.”  


* * *

  
It's Wednesday after lunch break. I still have some peaceful moments of a free period before we have CAD classes and I desperately try to focus on my upcoming presentation, file cards in hand which will lead me through the whole goddamn thing. And I'm so fucking nervous. Fuck.

“Would you just calm your tits, man.” Connie says. “I mean, you have high-score marks on almost each and every presentation you did so far. How can you still be so anxious about all that shit.”

I quirk an eyebrow at him. Contrary to Connie I care about my grades. I want them to be perfect. When I tell him that he simply snorts and returns to bothering Sasha who is equally occupied with memorizing the things we need to explain in our presentation.

Despite her being a nervous wreck, because she always mixes up the mathematical formulas involved, she giggles as Connie whispers something in her ear and pecks her cheek. I watch them bantering for a while. Christ, those goofballs are meant to be. It kind of makes me want to throw up.

“I think we should go, it's still thirty minutes till the class starts, but I'd rather be early and get the projector working and we still need to get there.” I interrupt their billing and cooing.

“Someone's jealous.” Sasha pipes up giggling.

I roll my eyes at her childish behavior before I rise to my feet. “Sure. Move it!”

It takes us fifteen minutes from the spot we're now to head over to the building we need to be. Unfortunately though, after half our way across the campus, Sasha spots something in the crowd of people – why is there a crowd anyway? – and forgets all about our presentation in a matter of seconds. I don't realize she and Connie are gone until I hear her voice squeaking from further away than I expected.

"Oh my god, Connie, look at them! Look at them! Wings of Freedom Circus is back in town!"

The fuck?! Circus? What's she at, goddammit. That damn girl and her attention span of a dead squirrel!

"Marcoooo! Berthoooooldt!" She's heading towards two men who happen to be in the center of the crowd.

One is contorting his body into some unhealthy ass position. He's got dark brown messy hair, his bangs parted into three almost identical pointy parts on his sweaty forehead. He's got an olive tan and as far as I can judge he's pretty tall. And damn he's got such a lovely, toned body. Adding up to his flexibility...

_No, Jean, snap out of it._

He wears a dark blue body suit, with glittery colorful sequins resembling a pattern of meticulous detailed peacock feathers. I don't even want to know where to get such clothes... or how it comes, he's not embarrassed to walk about in public like that. Then again, he's sweating a lot and his startling green eyes kind of betray that he'd rather be someplace else.

The other one is surrounded by girls like he's some sort of idol. He's got jetblack hair. It's short and resembles an undercut, but not quite though. It's neatly parted right in the middle, like he's some nerd or something. I notice that he smiles a lot, creating adorably cute dimples at the corners of his mouth, while handing out some papers to the people. His tan is slightly paler then the other bloke's and he seems to be smaller than him. The most eye-catching thing about him though, is the galaxy of freckles all over his cheeks and nose.

Whatever costume he wears usually is hidden underneath a black sweat suit. I usually don't pay much attention to guys in sweat suits, but the way his broad shoulders stretch the material and the way his ass fits into those pants seems promising.

Who are those people and why does Sasha know their names?

And why the fuck didn't she ever introduce me to such sexy blokes before? She knows I'm bi.

Irritated I march after her, push myself through a clusterfuck of people and curse freaking Karma who always seems to mess with my luck. Great, fucking great. It's not like we have any time pressure or so, no, definitely not.

"Oi, Sash! You can't memorize a goddamn mathematical formula, but you remember the name of some fucking circus clowns?! Newsflash, you're priorities suck big!" I scowl and shove away some bitch who seems to think standing in my way is the nicest place to be.

"But Jean, that's Marco Bodt." Sasha spins around beaming at me like she's trying to replace the freaking sun. She points at the freckled guys, who just so happens to size me up, with a lopsided smirk on his plush lips. Oh... interesting.

That's when I realize that Sasha probably expects any reaction to her statement. "Huh...?" I know what you think: Jean Kirschstein, master of eloquence and charisma.

"He's the best aerial silk artist ever!"

"Eh...?" Wow, this time the eloquence doesn't radiate from me. It's Freckles, or Marco, or whatever... and he's blushing now a fairly deep shade of red, while spluttering some modest bullshit. I smirk. So, he's that kind of guys who can't handle receiving compliments, huh? Should be fun to make him blush even more. I wonder how red he can get.

That's what I think, before I nearly drop dead on a heart-attack.

"Yeah, no shitting you, man!” Connie startles me. I totally forgot that the little shit is here to. He kept remarkably quiet the whole time. “And Bertholdt Hoover is such a bad ass contortionist." He points at the tall bloke, who, for some reason, is standing now beside Freckles and giggles, before he blushes himself. Even more so than Marco. Wow... what a bunch of losers. Aren't artists supposed to enjoy being in the center of attention?

And... Bertholdt? What kind of sucky name is that? Sounds German... father would probably love him on spot... maybe not as my boyfriend, though. He's never got over the fact that I do like boys, too. It's still an issue, so I rather stick to girls when it comes down to relationships. But I'm kinda getting ahead of myself. Tall and Lanky doesn't seem to be interested in me.

But Marco keeps staring at me like I'm a piece of steak and my gaydar registers a full-homo target. He's definitely interested, I mean, he's almost radiating the vibe of _'C'mon, let's go bang'_. I squirm slightly. It would be nice to do that... some stress relief.

Nah.

He's a circus clown, remember? He probably got fucked by men all across the country. Judging by his looks and innocent behavior, he must be popular amongst the gays. Who wouldn't just love to nail him? Look at those adorable big whiskey eyes, those kissable freckles, that firm body and those adorable dimples.

But who knows what kind of disease incubator lurks behind such a sexy body.

Nah, Jean, he's not worth the risk.

"If you think he's great in the circus ring, you should see the positions he's in when he awakes in the morning. Those are spectacular."

Oh crap! Of course he's got humor, too. And such a pleasant voice. Tender and warm and slightly lilting around the vocals. Karma, you're a fucking bitch. Stop tempting me.

Despite thinking that his comment was funny as hell (okay, no, hell's not funny, but you get the point, don't you?) my scowl deepens. Even more so when I hear the obnoxious giggles from my friends.

Ah right. Those two idiots are the reason why I'm standing here. In the middle of a clusterfuck of people and in front of two artists who happen to be way-too-attractive for my own good.

"Hey, if those two are buggering you guys just tell them off. Be strict or they won't learn how to behave." I scoff and hope that I speak loud enough for Connie and Sasha to hear it and get the message. But they just don't quit the stupid giggling.

And then the rather disturbingly cute sound of laughter hits me full force and unprepared. "H-hahahaha... no offense, but, hehehehe, that's quite a rude thing to say... hahahahah... about other people, especially friends. They... pffff... they ain't dogs, you know. You can't train the-hehehe... them like that." Marco shakes with laughter and it's so contagious that I can't keep the smile from my lips. He even snorts slighltly in between.

Oh my God... he's such a dork. That illegally attractive freckled artist is actually a perfectly adorable dork. I feel my facial muscles relax and the corners of my mouth twitch. It's near to impossible to control myself and not laugh with him now, but I somehow manage. I'm a Kirschstein after all.

"Exactly, man." Once again I get startled by Connie's appearance. And he fucking slaps my arm, that little shit. "You're the one who needs to behave, Jean. We're good."

“Shuddup.” I reply and rub the slightly sore spot on my arm. I've got a low pain tolerance, as embarrassing as it may sound. Good thing, I have friends who slap or smack me almost all the time, huh? Screw them.

I'm still scowling at the little twit who points his index finger at me like he's chiding a bad child, when Marco takes a step forward and speaks up. "Jean, right? I-It's nice to meet you. I'm Marco, a-as you already know.”He stutters. _How can he be so cute, goddammit?!_ “I assure you Bertholdt and I are flattered that somebody actually knows our names and is so eager to meet us in person. So, no harm done."

Such a rich, genuine smile.

The way he hands Sasha and Connie some of his fliers or whatever those paper snippets are.

Nimble fingers pointing at the text written on them.

His hands accompanying his every word with small gestures.

The way the small wrinkles around his eye crease whenever he smiles... almost all the time.

“He's free, you know.” I hear a soft baritone voice whispering into my ear and snap my head around, coming face to face with the other hot artist guy. Man, what a stunner. He winks at me and places his index finger on his thin lips, before drawing back again and pretending this short exchange of information never happened.

Okaaaay... Am I really that obvious?

I look back at Marco who's still conversing with Connie and Sasha. My heart does some funny thing now. It's beating way too fast.

Maybe I should reconsider my earlier thoughts of staying away from that one. Would he be worth it?

I'm still deep in thought about what to do next, as Marco appears within my eye shot once again, still wearing his contagious, genuine smile. "You are invited, too, of course. Unless you're too cool for 'fucking circus clowns'...?" He asks, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Oh shit. I feel the heat of a blush creeping over my cheeks. I totally fucked up at the beginning, didn't I? Oh damn-motherfucking-holy-crappedy crap!

“F-fuck! Hey, I d-didn't mean...” _Oh great. Make a fool of yourself now and he'll totally fall for you. Get a grip, Kirschstein._ “I didn't mean it like that, okay?” I take this sheet of paper he's offering me with an even broader smile. Such a little sass. He's enjoying my stuttering misery, isn't he? Don't play innocent on me, little artist, I know exactly your type of person. Friendly and innocent on the outside and a sassy little shit on the inside... probably.

I look at the flier thing he just gave me and frown. It's a fucking coupon for their circus show. Well, it makes kinda sense. That's most likely the reason why they are here.

 _'Pay once and bring a second person for free'_ it says. I frown. Usually I don't go to such performances, being the manly man I am. But maybe for seeing Marco in one of those tight ass body suits flying through the air...? Yeah, that definitely sounds promising.

”I'll think about it, Mr. Aerial-Silk-Artist."

He chuckles softly, almost timidly and starts rocking on his feet. Back and forth. Forth and back. "Marco, remember? Just call me Marco."

The way he looks at me almost expecting me to say something makes me struggle for words.

And then it hits me. Oh fucking god. Please don't. Please. Fucking. Don't. I pull my handy from my pants pocket and swipe at the display... damn shit.

"Holy flying fuck. Sasha!" Without further ado I turn around, all politeness gone for the moment of panic. I grab Sasha by the collar of her shirt and, no matter how many squeaking sounds escape her mouth, drag her along. "We've got five fucking minutes until we're supposed to be back in our CAD class and hold that shitty presentation. Move your fucking fat ass!"

"You're so mean, Jean!" She protests at first, flailing and tumbling backwards. But I'm too fucking pissed right now to pay attention to her well-being. It's her fault that we're gonna be late for our own presentation, because it's still quite a way to our classroom. So much for being early. It's all her fault. Hers and Connie's and Bertholdt's and especially Marco's fucking fault. Not mine. Definitely not mine.

"Five minutes, you say?!” Sasha squeals, panic tinting her words. “We'll never make this on time!" I nod irritated, but I keep on speed-walking across the fucking crammed campus.

If we're late and get points deduction because of that, I'll so totally kill her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trivia:  
> *Philippe: philos = friend, loving (Ancient Greek) hippos = horse (Ancient Greek) ekwo = horse (Indoeuropean); The name basically translates as “friend of horses”. Haha. Horse jokes on Jean's behalf, so very original. x'P

**Author's Note:**

> Each and every Comment, Kudo, Bookmark or even Hit makes my day a little bit brighter~ Thanks for reading, guys!
> 
> tumblr: bodtmaster
> 
> Please feel free to inform me about errors and/or mistakes. ^^


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